Playing the Dream
by StargayzerWrites
Summary: The enemy Pharah visits the reader, as Mercy, during a battle.


Elation: All around you, the enemy team's digital corpses slowly disappear, popping out of existence as they return to spawn. Swapping between healing and damage boosting, you look around at your surrounding teammates: Rein, shield up, with Junkrat on the high ground behind the point, spamming down at the main choke for the defenders, while Tracer harasses nearer their spawn and Hanzo… Is Hanzo, so he's off on a ledge firing random scatter arrow shots to maybe land a kill eventually.

All is well in your world; Your teammates surrounding you, and you outfit absolutely spot on - Night, tight red leggings, the perfect knee high, golden boots, and a full-torso, long-sleeved tunic with the angelic accents that can help you to love just about any outfit. Maybe not if it were designed by Junkrat, but… Well, nothing is properly perfect, is it?

Then, suddenly, your healing and damage boosting isn't enough. Missiles pour down like a fiery hailstorm, slamming into Rein's back, taking out the Moira who had been pocketing him, turning only slightly and destroying the Junkrat, just after he killed the enemy, pocketing Mercy. Tracer doesn't come to the rescue. Morrison is Morri-gone. As it were, justice had rained from above.

The enemy Pharah lands on the point, her metallic boots clanking heavily as she easily captures the point, and the directive to defend objective b prompts you to begin to walk away. As is, you're barely alive managing only to dodge some of her ult. Not but a moment after you begin to walk, a larger, stronger, metallic hand wraps tightly around your bicep. "Where are you off to, baby?" She coos, a smirk visible under the beak of her helmet. "My healslut died, so I'm gonna need you to pull a substitution here for my celebration fuck."

Her armor easily releases her, peeling away from her body until she stands before you in nought but her plain, white under-bra and a tight, bulging pair of panties. A few moments later, now naked, the newest Egyptian goddess strides steadily towards you. As she reaches you, her arms reaches forward, slipping her bare fingers in your hair, quickly wrapping up into a fist. "My my my, Dr. Ziegler..." She smirks, reaching down and stroking herself slowly.

"Here we are… All alone. Me, hard, naked, erect, needing a brand new heal-slut to call mine… Hah, I can see your knees shaking~ Do you like my cock, baby? You can have it, if you want - Just say yes~ I'll pin you harder than Rein, and slam your cute little ass... Just ask me to, like the faithful little slut i know you are." A moment passes, you staring up at her, without a single breath made in preparation for a reply.

Rolling her eyes, Fareeha stoops slightly, wrapping her free arm tightly around your hip and easily hoisting you up. Lacking the slightest sign of outward struggle at lifting you, Pharah walks you to the nearest wall, lowering you back to your feet long enough to spin you around and slam you forward into the wall. It doesn't feel great, exactly, but it's certainly not gonna be a problem when a goddess, an amazing woman like Pharah is standing behind you, hand in your hair, and forcing you to bend over, ever so slightly, making you stick your butt up and out just a bit more.

Something hard, throbbing, and hot slaps against your buttcheek through your leggings. "You're not gonna get too many chances here, my hot little slut. Do you want my cock -" The taller, harder bodied woman pauses long enough to slap your cheek with her solid meat once more. "Or not?" Your lip is too busy being bitten for you to formulate a response, until her hand replaces her cock and leaving your cheek jiggling from a slap. "If you don't want my dick, baby, at least tell me so I can go find a proper heal-slut, like Moira."

As a Mercy main, the thought of this beautifully dominant dick going to a scientist with flawed morals and an ever so slightly tighter booty than yours tips your brain back from the edge of a lusty cliff, just enough that you can speak. "Oh, Gods above, Pharah, please - _Please, fuck me, Pharah, ple-_ Ah!" She cuts you off by spanking you once more, a smirk plastered on her face like one of those ancient roman statues.

"That's Mistress, heal-slut~" She correct you, casually reaching under the backside flap of your tunic, meant to preserve an inkling of your dignity. For a moment, held in place by the steady grip she maintains on your hair, you wonder what she's up to - That question is answered when she pressed in, ever so slightly, on your littlest, tightest hole, making you yelp ever so slightly. Her finger immediately turns to the side, pressing it's nail through the fabric, and quickly ripping a loveable, large hole in your leggings.

Not even thinking of how irritated Emily would be about the gift she gave her wife's favorite colleague, you push your ass towards the dominant mechaqueen, offering yourself even more. Before that, tho, she turn you again, and quickly, roughly guides you to your knees. You haven't even a moment before 8 sweet, twitching inches of queencock invade your throat, pushing deep into your wet mouth - Too deep for you to even taste any delicious precum the goddess before you might've granted you if she had any of her mother's patience.

This, of course, is not meant to get your queen off. Without saying anything, you do your best to start slobbering all over her hard, adrenaline-filled fuckstick, knowing that on the field in the middle of an operation like this, no one has any lube. Of course, spit isn't the ideal solution, but it's akin to laying down when you can't sleep; Something is better than nothing, and a little bit of rest will go a long way. Which is helpful, since Pharah isn't going to allow you to drench her in more than a little bit of spittle.

Not two minutes after forcing you to kneel, Fareeha quickly propels you up to your feet, and then against the nearest wall, her body pressing up against your back to hold you in place. Not a word comes to the Egyptian woman's mind as being necessary. No, not a single vowel is needed for you or her to understand the endgame here. Using the hole from earlier, and one of her hands wrapping around the back of your neck, Pharah leans her hips back, angles her cock against your cute little asshole, and pushes gruffly forward.

As her thick, pulsing cock spreads your surprisingly tight cheeks apart, and pushed through your itty bitty hole, Fareeha groans, her hand on the back of your neck tightening, pushing you snuggly against the wall as she pushed forward. If she thought of your pleasure or discomfort at all, those thoughts resided at the back of her mind, right alongside what she's having for dinner and when she'll next find herself grabbing a beer with Reinhardt. "Ugh, you're my fucking slut, aren't you, Angela?" She groans, her free hand finding your hip and squeezing just before she presses the final inch of her gaudy pole inside of you.

Time is of the essence, and it quickly become clear that Fareeha's got no interest in wasting her time or essence. Continuing not to think much about how being pressed against the cold, metal wall might be bothering you, Pharah quickly works herself into a nice rhythm, sawing her big dick in and out of your ass, fucking you as thoroughly as she ever had before. "You're such a little bitch, Dr. Ziegler, you know that ?" She paused for a groan. "My slutty, bitchy, bratty little cocksleeve~"

Paired with the adrenaline of a a quad kill and solo-capping the point, your ass has an easy time pushing Fareeha over the edge, and with a solid, rather boring thrust, she bursts inside of you, coating you and marking your insides, once more, as her personal property. Although the end might have been anti-climatic, Pharah's rapid, rough fucking has left you panting, and her dumping her essence inside of you might have gotten you closer to cumming than most might think.

But, just like that, she's back in her armor, and gone before you can ask her for more. Emptiness in more places than one, your knees shaking, and your mind lustful, you fly after her, but only to help your teammates, right? Certainly not to, 'not notice,' the enemy Pharah slipping behind enemy lines.

You smile, feeling oddly warm inside~


End file.
